


Sorrow

by undergrounddaydreams



Series: 100 Themes Challenge [6]
Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undergrounddaydreams/pseuds/undergrounddaydreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a Friday night out at the pub where a local celebrity sings his heart out only to have the object of his  (seemingly) unrequited affection stroll through the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Labyrinth. I just like to play there. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made. For entertainment purposes and love of the source.

"You know he did that on purpose, right?" Dee glanced back at Sarah as they made their way into the pub.

"No, he didn't," Sarah half-heartedly denied as she followed her in, eyes trained on her cousin's bouncing ponytail as they wove through the crowd.

"Yes, he did. He hid those keys. He was checking out your ass when you were looking under the couch." She looked back at Sarah pointedly. "He has a crush on you. It's totally gross. You're his freakin' cousin, for christ's sake."

"Oh, come on! He does not. And if he did, it's harmless." Sarah raised a recriminating brow. "You're one to talk, anyway. Remember when we were twelve, the family reunion, cousin Jeremy?"

Dee scanned the crowd as they moved further into the pub. "Second cousin, and that's completely different."

" _Right._ How's it different?"

"Because I'm not a gross 15-year-old boy. I know what he does when he locks himself in the bathroom for 20 minutes. And if he's in there, doing _that_ , and he's thinking about . . ."

Sarah put a hand over her face, shaking her head. "Please, don't finish that thought . . ."

Dee glanced back at her, her own eyebrow raised. "See what I mean?"

Finally breaking through the crowd at the front of the pub, Dee waved as she spotted her friends and made a bee-line for their table near the stage, Sarah following closely behind. On the stage a band was apparently between songs, the guy she assumed was the lead singer giving direction to the musicians behind him, his back to the audience. He was dressed all in black, his spikey blond hair picking up the colored lights in the dim, smoky room.

Dee plopped into a chair with a grunt, Sarah sliding into the one next to her. "Sorry we're late. Stupid brother," Dee grumbled. "Did we miss much?"

The redhead beside her rolled her eyes. "He's been at it for almost an hour, so yeah, you kinda did."

"Damn." Dee turned to Sarah apologetically. "I'm sorry my brother's such a perv. I really wanted you to see this. He's probably almost finished."

The boy next to Sarah leaned forward with a smile, his brown hair flopping over his glasses and the scarf around his neck pooling on the table. "I'm Eric, by the way."

"Oh, god. I'm sorry." Dee shook her head, grimacing. "Sarah, these are my friends Sasha and Eric." She gestured vaguely with her hand. "Sasha and Eric, my cousin, Sarah."

"Hey." Sasha nodded and offered a friendly smile from across the table.

"Lovely to meet you. Alcoholic beverage?" Eric didn't bother to wait for Sarah's reply as he began pouring a glass of beer from a pitcher on the table. "One thing I'll never understand about you Americans is that you give people the vote at 18, but you can't drink until you're 21. You would think that being trusted to hold your liquor would be a prerequisite for voting the leaders of your country into office." He pushed it toward her, the foam sloshing over the edge, and clinked his glass to hers. "Cheers!"

Dee reached for the pitcher, bringing the conversation back around as she poured her own beer. "So, what's he done so far?"

"The classic heartbroken, angsty set we've come to know and love...Broken Wings, a little Phil Collins, Missing You by John Waite . . ." Sasha's eyes widened, and she looked over at Eric. "Purple Rain!"

"Purple Rain . . .," Eric echoed reverently. "Bloody fantastic."

"But the best so far, and you are going to be so pissed that you missed it . . .," Sasha paused for dramatic effect, reaching out to grip Dee's arm on the table as if offering support, ". . . Do You Really Want to Hurt Me. Culture Club."

"No!" Dee's eyebrows shot up, and then quickly fell down into a pout. "Seriously? "

"Seriously, " Sasha confirmed. "It was incredible. With that voice of his and he did this melty thing in those _sinfully_ tight pants . . ." She shook her head, apparently overcome with the memory. "It was just . . ."

Eric sighed. "Incredible, god bless him . . ."

"And his pants." Sasha turned her attention to the man in question, hissing softly through her teeth in appreciation.

They all fell quiet as the band started up again, the melody lulling the crowd into a complacent stupor as all heads turned toward the stage. Sarah followed suit, recognizing the song: Wicked Game by Chris Isaak. The singer stepped up to the microphone, reaching out to cradle the head gently in his gloved hand, his mouth pressed close as he began to sing. His hair fell forward, obscuring his face, but his voice, low and deep, teased at her memory, raising goosebumps along her flesh.

Sarah leaned forward so she could be heard over the music. "Who is he?"

"No one really knows," Sasha answered, tearing her eyes away from the stage to shrug in Sarah's direction. "He just showed up one day."

"You see," Eric began, "Friday is karaoke night. A few years ago he just strolled into our humble establishment like some kind of venetian glam rock god, made a bee-line for the stage, and rocked that karaoke machine for all it was worth. And the rest . . . is history." He looked toward her. "He's been coming for years, always on a Friday, but you never know when or if he'll show. Never stays for a drink, never talks to anybody. He didn't even blink the first time a band was waiting for him. "

"There's actually a lottery to play back-up with him," Dee said, refilling her glass. "Everybody's dying to play with him. It's crazy. Every band for miles around is an 80s cover band."

"Makes me wish I could play in instrument," Eric confessed. "Just for the view."

Sasha grinned. "Eric has a bit of a crush."

"I'm completely infatuated. I actually tried to talk to him once. You know, offered to buy him a drink."

Sasha shook her head. "No. You said something much more lame."

"It doesn't matter what I said." Eric looked at Sarah from over his glasses. "Do you know what he did?"

Sasha leaned forward on the table in her eagerness to tell the story. "He just looked him up and down, slowly, his lip curling into this kind of sneer. Eric was practically drooling." She sat back. "And then he just turned and walked away. Didn't say a word."

Eric flopped back in his chair, his hand over his heart. "It was fabulous. It just made me want him more. He could kick me like a dog and I'd follow him anywhere."

The room broke out into applause as the song ended, the next beginning quickly on its heels. Eric sighed, taking a sip of his beer. "Last song."

"Last song," Sasha echoed softly with a shake of her head.

"He always, _always_ ends with the same song." Dee said, turning in her chair to better view the stage. "Sara by Jefferson Starship."

"It's so incredibly sad, the way he sings it." Sasha sighed, resting her chin on her folded hands as she stared up at him, the first notes of the song drifting down. "Whoever this 'Sara' was, she really messed him up bad."

Sarah's gaze drifted slowly up to the stage as she chewed at her bottom lip. She had a strange feeling about all this. Something niggled at the back of her mind, something she couldn't quite grasp. Stepping back from the microphone, he tossed his head, his wild hair flailing to reveal his face. Her eyes grew wide, and her breath caught in her throat. She knew that face. It was one she'd never thought she'd see again, but would never, ever forget.

The Goblin King.

Adrenaline flooded her system, her heart pounding in her ears and her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her body was screaming at her ' _flight! flight! flight!_ ' but she couldn't seem to drag her eyes away. The siren call of his voice, eerie and seductive and beckoning, his face, cold and hard and beautiful--they pulled at her to stay. Glued to her chair, she stared up at him, open-mouthed, the words of the song washing over her . . .

" _Saaaarah, Saarahhh . . . storms are brewin' in your--_ "

And that's when he saw her. Static screeched through the speakers as the microphone clattered to the floor. A collective gasp rose up from the crowd. The band came to a discordant, faltering stop. A hush fell over the room as all heads fixed expectantly on the couple, his intense mismatched blue eyes locked in silent battle with her terrified green.

A long moment passed before Jareth looked away. He reached down, taking a swig from the mug on the stool beside him. Gazing out over the heads of the audience, he righted his black leather vest and ran a gloved hand through his tousled hair. He slid her a sideways glance before turning to walk toward her. His eyes, cool and narrow, were trained on hers as he moved closer, the heels of his boots clicking ominously down the stage steps and onto the stone floor.

Sarah rose slowly from her chair, stumbling over the leg as she moved backward to stand beside it, her hand gripping the wooden back to steady herself. The urge to bolt was nearly overwhelming. But so was the urge to stay. She watched warily as he approached.

He came to a stop a mere foot away, his posture stiff as he looked down at her. "Sarah." His tone was formal, clipped. His eyes trailed down over her figure before flicking back up to hers. "You're looking well."

Sarah couldn't quite say the same. He looked . . . ravaged. His skin was paler than she remembered, pulled tight against the angles of his face, and dark circles pulled heavily at his tired eyes. But, in spite of it all, the shadow caressing his face seemed to buoy that otherworldly, ethereal quality about him somehow, gracing him with a kind of haunting beauty that rose up from the pain in his expression. She swallowed thickly before finding her voice and speaking quietly. "What are you doing here?"

"I grew up here." He glanced around the room briefly with barely concealed disdain. "It was much different then." When he looked back at her, his eyes burned. "And you? You're far from home. Come to lay devastation on another far away land--rip out its heart and never look back? Didn't get your fill the first time?"

 _Wow. He was angry._ Sarah's hand flexed over the back of the chair as she took a step backward. "I . . ." She faltered, words fleeing at the accusation. The whispers of the crowd pricked at her ears and she could feel every eye on her, judging her, as they bandied her name about like a beach ball at a sports game. She swallowed nervously, looking around the room. She wasn't keen on having this conversation in front of an audience, but the alternative of having it alone, with him, was positively terrifying.

A voice rang out suddenly from the crowd. "Aw, forgive him, honey!"

Another answered. "If you don't, I will!"

And a third. "Come on, Sarah! Kiss and make up!"

This last sparked a chant that diffused through the room into a roar, complete with hands pounding and feet stomping. "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss . . ."

Sarah whipped her head back to find Jareth still watching her intently. She unconsciously licked her lips, and his eyes flicked down at the movement. Her heartbeat raced in panic and possibilities as the chant continued to swirl around them. She could almost see the idea take hold, the words-- _kiss, kiss, kiss_ \--sinking in, crowding out all other thoughts until his eyes were dark with their shadow.

Just as she was about to heed the impulse to flee, someone, and if she ever found out who, she'd kill them, pushed her from behind. Sarah stumbled forward, Jareth's arms coming up to catch her. The scene seemed to fade as she stared up at him – the sounds muffled to a distant hum, and the prying eyes hidden behind the veil of his hair, backlit from the overhead lights, surrounding them in a pale golden glow. His eyes met hers for only moment before he crushed his lips to hers. His hand wove up through her hair, splaying across the back of her head, holding her to him, his other wrapping around her, pulling her in close. The kiss was passionate--angry, bittersweet, desperate. He teased at her lips, seeking entrance, and she opened to him. His tongue slid against hers, coaxing her response, the delicious heat of it sending tiny little flames licking under her skin, setting her body on fire. Her knees nearly buckled and she gripped his arms tighter.

He ripped his mouth away in response to lean forward, his voice a growl in her ear, "How's that for _power_ , Sarah dear?"

Her body was practically humming with the power. It was electric, whatever this thing was between them. The sound of the whooping, hollering crowd came back fast as she fought to catch her breath.

A softer whisper at her throat sent shivers down her spine. "This isn't over, Sarah." Jareth pulled back, cupping her chin and lifting her eyes to his. "I _will_ come find you later. And you _will_ see me."

Sarah nodded, her little inner feminist waving her 'ok' feebly from her nearly unconscious position in the back of her mind.

"Say it."

"I'll . . ." Her voice sounded weak and uncertain. Sarah swallowed as she pushed back, transferring her weight from his arms to her still shaky legs. "I'll . . . see you."

He searched her face for a moment, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip, before turning and walking purposely toward the back entrance. It wasn't until the door clicked shut behind him that Sarah moved, flopping back into her chair like a rag doll, a similarly vacant, slightly dazed expression on her face. Seeing that her defenses were down, the crowd closed in, firing questions, their appetites whet with the taste of fan service, the need for more rampant in their crazed eyes.

Taking control of the situation, Dee stepped in front of her, arms held out wide. "Whoa! Back off people! She's just been properly snogged by a sex god. Give the girl room to breathe!" She grinned over her shoulder to find Sarah glaring back at her. When she had succeeded in shooing everyone away, at least for the moment, Dee plopped into her chair, her chin perched on her hand. "Oh, Sarah. Spill."

Sarah shook her head in an attempt to clear her own confusion. "There's nothing to tell, really. I barely even know him. It was so long ago. I didn't even think . . ." Her voice trailed off as she tried to make sense of what had just happened.

When it was apparent that nothing else was immediately forthcoming, Eric looked imploringly at Dee and Sasha, his face sullen. "You do realize that our Friday nights have just been buggered?"

"Well, he has been singing his heart out for years, all sad and desperate and heartbroken." Sasha gave a half-shrug, affecting a sympathetic, pained expression. "Kind of pathetic, really."

"Years he's been drowning his sorrow. Years!" Eric exclaimed. "And then the mysterious 'Sarah' just up and walks through the bloody door?"

Sasha's face lit up slowly. "You know, the least we can do is throw him a bone." She grinned. "Literally."

Dee's eyes grew wide. "Ooooh. Sexual tension."

Sasha nodded her head. "Sex and Rock 'n Roll, baby!"

"Oh, hey." Eric perked up, leaning forward on the table. "Hey, this might not be all bad. What if she's a tease, leads him on? All that built up passion needs a release somehow, right?"

"Ooooh. Release," Dee cooed as she leaned in. "If he's up there, thinking about Sarah, and singing all these sexy songs, that's bound to get those hips moving."

Sasha folded her arms on the table, nodding her head emphatically as she leaned forward to complete the conspiratorial trifecta. "And even when she gives it up, there's that new relationship glow, you know? All the sex and the can't-get-enough-of-each-other thing? All kinds of potential there!"

"Hey!" Sarah glared around the table at her three companions. "You do realize that I'm still sitting right here, right?"

All three heads turned to look at her, their eyes narrowed and calculating as they studied her. She could almost hear the gears turning. Eric leaned toward her, turning on the charm. "Sarah, do you think you could . . ."

 _Christ._ Sarah plopped her head down on the table, her hair falling around her face in a curtain, blocking them out. She didn't have room in her thoughts for their ridiculous plotting. She turned her face sideways, the wooden tabletop cool against her flushed cheek. Her head was still spinning, her skin still tingling. She breathed in, exhaling slowly as she willed the emotions clambering in her head to stop, line up, and present themselves one by one for inspection. She needed to think this through.

But all she could really think about was that she'd be seeing him again later…

And that _kiss_. . .

-o0O0o-

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know – karaoke. It's been done to death. We do know that the GK has a tendency to break into song to express his feelings, so it's a natural progression. Anyway, here's my stab at it. Hopefully, it's out of my system and you won't see another.
> 
> Sorry for the lyric. I hate prose-ifying singing, but I couldn't find a good way around it.
> 
> Many thanks to the J/DB Harem for brainstorming angsty, heartbreaky 80s songs with me! :) For inquiring minds, the songs he sang on this particular night: Broken Wings by Mr. Mister, Missing You by John Waite, Against All Odds by Phil Collins, Purple Rain by Prince, Do You Really Want to Hurt Me by Culture Club, Wicked Game by Chris Isaak, and Sara by Jefferson Starship (which was the very first cassette tape I personally owned. I'm totally dating myself.)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please, leave a contribution in the little box. :) Reviews are much appreciated and constructive criticism is always welcome.


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